


**discontinued**

by BuildMeTheMoon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Assuming you all like it, F/M, I'm trying but OverWatch is also a world where dragons are apparently real. Please bear with me, Intend on it being nsfw, Western, comments give me life, some sad stuff but not because of McCree, somewhat accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuildMeTheMoon/pseuds/BuildMeTheMoon
Summary: His eyes followed a thin break in the tall grass. He looked left and right then dashed across dirt road to the path. Down the hill was a small cabin and what looked like what used to be a stable. No lights in the windows. The path was worn, but certainly not by a group of people.It was a risk. But it was also a start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song based fic. Was one song now i'm at like 3 that are tied in.  
> I plan on making it nsfw, but we'll see if y'all even like it.  
> Let me know what you all think!

Jesse McCree considered himself one of the best bank robbers in the country, if not the state. Sure, he had only pulled off two successful jobs. And the prize was a couple hundred dollars, but it was a damn good start. He had yet to be caught and worked alone. He had his eyes on a bigger prize this time.

The Reader Mutual Bank sat in the center of Brookvale, Texas. It was guarded, but from what McCree had surveyed, severely understaffed and unprotected. Plenty on tellers, but only two guards that he had seen. One was a mountain of a man, but a loaded gun seems to bring everyone down to the same size. And these guards were only armed with batons. If he was able to pull this off he might even be able to become someone respectable. He couldn’t think of a career he’d enjoy, but if he had a mountain of money to sit on and think about it real hard, he was sure he’d think of something.

His main concern at the moment was shelter. He had a large head start on the Hilldale Police if they were still after him. He couldn’t risk being caught at some inn. He’d hoped the train to make it to Brookvale. Stealing a horse would be too risky.

Instead he looked for the most expensive carriage with no attendant and climbed in to the luggage trunk, hoping to God up above his career of crime wouldn’t end with the trunk being thrown open with the carriage owner's guns drawn and trained on him.

McCree felt the carriage jostle as what felt like a parade of people climbed inside. He couldn’t understand a word, but they sounded like a merry bunch. After what felt like an hour, which in reality was about fifteen minutes, the carriage stopped. McCree felt the passengers leave, then the carriage was pulled into a carriage house. The Horses were put up and McCree was safe to escape the trunk.

He peeked through the slit of the lid, looking for any signs of life. Nothing. He quietly crept out, seeing a few other well-maintained carriages. He crept out of the carriage house, hearing voices back at the large mansion. In the other direction was a huge expanse of land, rolling hills of green grass. Black Angus cattle dotting the hillside. The sun would be setting soon, he needed to act.

His eyes followed a thin break in the tall grass. He looked left and right then dashed across dirt road to the path. Down the hill was a small cabin and what looked like what used to be a stable. No lights in the windows. The path was worn, but certainly not by a group of people.

It was a risk. But it was also a start.

 

* * *

 

You had lost track of the amount of times you had run away to this refuge, not that there was any point in keeping track. The path was overgrown with hay, you let you hand graze over the tall stalks. The warmth of the setting sun still trapped in the densely packed foliage. It needed to be harvested or the cows let loose to feed, but this part of the land laid forgotten, despite it being just a stone’s throw away from your house. Nothing mattered anymore, not really.

Your father had more money than he needed, certainly more than he deserved. He had found the oil fields when he was young, now in his later years he appeared fat and happy.

Appearances are deceiving.

He had married your mother when she was young, the belle of the once small town of Brookvale, Texas. Your mother told you as soon as he arrived in town “it was like a whole city built itself around him” she said. She had loved him dearly. His love wasn’t nearly as long lasting. Once she became pregnant with you, he lost interest in her and since you weren’t a son that could carry on the family name, he had no interest in you.

It was never mentioned openly in polite company, but the whole town knew he had mistresses. It broke your mother’s heart, she was one of the kindest people you had ever known, she was taken from you too soon. The doctor said it was tuberculosis, she withered and wasted away. But you knew. You knew everyday your father ignored her, belittled her, wished her away and out of his site, she got sicker. When she could no longer get out of bed you were by her side constantly. Her last breath was wishing to see your father. Just remembering it made your blood boil. How you were the one to tell him she had passed, how he hadn’t even gotten up from his chair to see her even if it was too late.

The funeral was a closed casket, you wanted to see her one last time. You were held back by your father, his hands had a firm grip on your shoulders, his fingers digging in. You bowed your head in prayer. A prayer for your mother’s soul and your father’s damnation.

It had been five years since she passed. Your father drank and had endless mistresses to the house, along with his wealthy friends. Hearing their jovial laughter, the clinking glasses, the salacious whispers that weren’t whispers at all after multiple drinks.

You wanted to burn the whole house down with them all inside.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. In all your rage and pain, it held the echoes of your mother, it was your daytime haven. When your father returned home from the bank, bringing his friends and lovers for another night of drinking, you left.

 The dilapidated cabin was your twilight haven.

 

The stable was rotting away, you could smell the damp wood as you got closer. The Stable Keeper’s cabin was in a similar state, but the interior was still dry. The small stove in the corner enough to keep you warm and cook a small meal for one. It had a large bed you had once shared with your mother when the pair of you would come to ride the horses. Father had sold the horses the day after you lost your mother. He claimed they were childish things that neither of you had time for “If they can’t pull a carriage, they aren’t worth glue.”

You pushed the cabin door open and took a deep breath. It calmed you, forcing the negative thoughts from your mind.

You set your pile of books on the small dining table and got to work lighting the stove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate any comments and suggestions!

The cabin was unlocked. 

McCree was thankful he wouldn’t have to break a window. The cabin was not what he had expected, it was simple and clean. 

Clean was the problem. He ran a finger over the small dining table that was near a potbellied stove. He had to hold his finger up to the fading light, but there was nothing to see. Not a trace of dust. He then noticed the stack of dry wood next to the stove. He saw a few rows of shelves lined jars of preserves, pickled vegetables, and a few picnic cloth bundles wrapping something. Someone was living here, and by the care that was shown, it wasn’t another squatter.  
He looked around for a place to hide. The bed’s blanket hardly hung over the edges. And if he moved it surely the current occupant would notice.  
He sighed, pulling off his hat to fan his face. Leaning back to rest on the table, he closed his eyes and let his head roll back, letting the breeze cool the sweat the was beading on his neck. It’d cool down soon with the sun setting, but his anxiousness was keeping him hot.

He opened his eyes a grin slowly forming on his face. An answer to an unspoken prayer, a square wood cutout was directly above the dining table. He replaced his hat then shook the table, testing its sturdiness. Despite its obvious age, it was solid. He carefully climbed up, slowly pushing the hatch open. Streaks of fading sunlight painted the small attic room. There were a few folded blankets that much have been stored there for the summer. Next to them was a half-melted candle in a silver candle holder. His first thought was how much the silver could be worth, but he refocused.  
He didn’t hear the scamper of any feet, and didn’t see any fresh dust kicked up, so he had to hope he wasn’t entering so critters home. Now standing at his full height he placed the hatch to the side. He lifted himself up without too much of a struggle. He sat hunched on his knees, one hand patting his back pocket and finding the book of matches he used for his cigar. He didn’t want to light it yet and risk being the light being seen. He would try to wait till it was absolutely necessary. He spread out the blankets, trying to not to breath in the dust that was now floating everywhere. He laid the hatch back in place and settled into his makeshift bed. He set his hat aside and laidback, his eyes slowly began to close. He was exhausted and starving, the constant stress of being on the run would run any man ragged.

He didn’t get a chance to sleep though. It seemed the resident of the cabin had returned home. Jesse held his breath, trying to hear every sound, which was hard since his heart seemed to be beating in his ears.

 

* * *

 

You watched the fire, making sure it was properly caught and closed the stove door. You went to the shelf grabbing the hard load of bread that was wrapped in cloth and a small jar of strawberry preserves you had made earlier that year. You decided a simple diner of bread and jam sounded good enough. You went to set the items on the table and froze in place. There was dust covering the table, your eyes glanced upward looking at the attic hatch. You wiped the dust off the table and set the items down gently trying to make as little noise as possible.  
You unfolded the cloth and ripped off a chunk of the bread, unscrewing the lid of the jar. You dug into your small satchel and pulled out your canteen setting it aside, then pulling out your knife. You spread some of the jam onto the bread. You listened. You could hear the crackling of the fire, a breeze that was picking up outside. But nothing coming from above you.

  
Some poor animal must have gotten stuck up there you guessed. You could picture a raccoon desperately clawing at the hatch, unable to figure its way back out. Poor thing, it was probably frightened out of its mind.  
You pushed everything to the back of the table so it was resting against the wall, then draped the bread cloth over it to keep the dust off and giving the animals a clear landing space. You grabbed the broom near the stove and gingerly pushed the hatch up. You didn’t hear any hissing or scratching so you continued.  
You tilted the hatch so fell to one side, then you pushed it away, leaving it wide open. You made a clicking noise, as if you were trying to get the attention of a cat.  
You still heard nothing.

You climbed on to the table but stayed crouched so whatever it was wouldn’t see you. You braced one hand on the wall, thankful the table didn’t rock, your other hand holding the bread.  
It was pitch-black up there. You distinctly remember leaving a candle up there so you would never have to worry about finding one for when it was time to get the blankets, but you were too afraid to go grabbing around in the dark with something up there.

You were going to feel like a fool if it was empty.

You made a few more clicking sounds, placing the bread carefully on the edge so your fingers were out of reach and pushed it till it was steady. You quickly hopped off the table, grabbing the broom. You went to the door and pushing it all the way open. Hoping if the animal wanted to escape it would make a beeline for freedom. You went to the opposite side of the room, your back laid flat against the wall, ready to rush to the door and pull it closed as soon as the animal escaped.

 

Much to your dismay a huge gust of wind swept over the hills and hitting the cabin, it caught the door slamming it shut. You pursed your lips in annoyance, no way that animal would come down now. Damn it.  
Your body had been tense, preparing to fight off whatever the animal was with the broom. Now you sank down till you were crouched, your dress pooling at your feet. You weren’t sure if it was even safe to pull the hatch back in place, but you didn’t think you would be able to sleep knowing something was in the cabin with you. You hung your head, the broom braced out in front of you like a staff.

* * *

 

McCree had watched in silent horror as the hatch was pushed open, expecting the see the barrel of a shotgun soon after. Instead it was a piece of bread, the person you had placed it didn’t stick around.  
The door slammed, making him jump.

He cautiously peeked over the open hatch, listening for a moment. He grabbed the bread, never being one to pass up a free meal, and eagerly took a huge bite. He was met with a sweet tangy flavor. Strawberries? The sweet jam coated his tongue making his mouth water. He swallowed and stuffed the rest into his mouth, chewing as he scooted to the edge of the hatch and dropped down onto the table. He faced the door and jumped down from the table, his hand hovering over his holster.  
He took one step towards the door before his other hand went to his head. He had forgot his hat.  
He spun on his heel, the one hand still at the ready to draw, the other wiping the jam off his face as he finished chewing and swallowed.  
He nearly chocked.

 

She was slowly rising to her feet, using the broom she had a white-knuckle grip on like it was grounding her to the earth. She wore a simple looking dress but had the details of expensive finery. Before he could observe much more, she charged him.

 

You held up the broom up across your chest with both hands, intending to use it like a battering ram and hopefully knocking him off his feet, then without a word you ran at him.  
You were terrified and you were furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel like my writing is declining??  
> So I really appreciate you reading. Idk what's been the problem, I just feel... boring.  
> But enough whining  
> Thank you, I hope you have a great day, and ilu♥️!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!  
> my tumblr is: BuildMeTheMoon.tumblr.com


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